


Visable

by Whitticism



Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotional, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Instability, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27848182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whitticism/pseuds/Whitticism
Summary: I told you I'd always see you for you. I never believed that would include this.This is a completely fictional work, any similarity to real persons and or circumstances is completely coincidental.Please be aware this does touch on some elements of mental health that may be destabilising for people in certain circumstances, or with certain conditions, please view at your own risk. Topics explored include as of last review, death, perception of reality, and memory related issues.





	1. Prologue

"I love you,"

"Please, close your eyes,"

"Never." 

Last words don't make an elegant end to a bad dream, but are a rather apt one. To think the one moment you wouldn't want to be seen, would be the last you ever had. 

Cold water replaces dried salt on my face as I attempt to gain some kind of normalcy in my appearance. Sans the dead eyes and dark lashes, I'm not too bad at this now, being a regular routine and what not. 

Tie your laces, grab you keys, fix on a smile. Breathe. Leave.


	2. Witness

Blaring, siren like laugher, flashing lights that synced up just right to raucous noise and rampant motion. I never understood how anyone could enjoy this. Perhaps I shouldn't lie to myself so much. I used to love moments like these. Something about a deep heavy tone rippling through your chest, forcing your heart to beat along with it, just hit in a way nothing else could. Still does, in a sense, only now it reminds me of the weight my chest bears every time I breathe.

Making haste through the crowd in a way I can only do through practice and experience in multitude, I opt not to be distracted by bodies and voice. I'm only here for one purpose, and inhibition is oft my closest friend these days. 

Sharp, cold air. A welcome I'm oddly grateful for, despite the familiar stone-like property of the room. How some places manage to feel like they're below ground, despite being clearly not as such, will likely always baffle me. It's a strangely impersonal office for such an eclectic person, like you. Though I suppose that was what you were like, relying more in your presence, than decoration, to light up a space like this.

It must have been you, being that the room never bit at my mind with frosted teeth like this before. There's fortune in that my time here is short, little to do but pick up a box. I'll blame the icy in the air for the shake in my hands and body, I'd prefer to see no alternative. 

I feel like death, the sensation or the embodiment isn't a distinction I can make, but either way this collection strikes at me in such a manner it's hard to see clearly, just for a moment. It's not a moment I can live in for long, however, before the violent thrum outside the thin door at my back gives way unto my ears. Sharp voices call phrases I register but likely will not recall, as I find myself irritably leaving, my moments dark reverie long lost.

Those walls bore witness to the time I couldn't be with you. Saw of you that which you could have hidden from me. Sometimes I curse that my eyes live only in my head, for to see you here, at peace and dedicated, isn't a pleasure I've ever been able to live. I swore I would see you, never look past you. That'd you never be forgotten while in front of my eyes. I wish I could have always assured you with a gaze, such you'd have never had to feel doubt. 

Hollow streets, hollow hearts, hollow minds. It feels to me the whole world is empty now. It's wrong, I know that. The emptiness is inside only me, there's life in the people who pass me. It's my own eyes that force me to see myself in them, irrespective of their truths. Does it matter? Life is only what you perceive it to be. I choose to perceive in them what is in me. It feels wrong. I always saw in you clearly who you were, and yet I deny everyone around me now the same respect.

I can't continue like this.   
I promised to be a witness.  
It shouldn't have to die with you.


End file.
